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Flower Funeral

Monday, 17 October 2016






Why, hello there! I know...I know it's been ten light years since I've last put up a post.
But hey, your girl still blogs *adds shoki*. 
Get your hands soiled and your eyes glued (literally) flipping through my 'Super-duper, Very Seriously Sticky Notes' series I stacked up.
It’s bits and pieces—from my Notes folder, Microsoft Word and yes, actual notebooks—I've written out of mere inspiration or when my head isn't buried (sadly) in Optical Mineralogy by Kerr.
A Truck-Load of LOVE,
Chinenye


Flower Funeral

I imagined you'd smell of flowers at first,
the warm lilies floating on the now deserted Old Castles's lake
or the crimson red roses unraveling their petals behind the razor
sharp thorns that left Gertrude's thumb a fire-engine red with thick blood.
She gave the throbbing thumb a good lick and guffawed in her usual bubbly manner as opposed to the blue river I expected flowing downstream across her chubby cheeks.
I imagined you'd smell of flowers at first,
the sunflowers that greeted me every single morning from granddaddy's
bay window in the East side of town or the hibiscus I would colour in on my paint-by-numbers drawing kit
Aunt Hauwa got me when I was eight years old.
I imagined you would, and I hope you haven't forgotten I had a wild,
over-vivid imagination right from birth.
Pouring all my love on you felt synonymous to how I would
water every single petal I came across right from then.
But I guess no one ever told me that too much water also had the
ability to kill that same flower.



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